


Pretty Flower

by krisherdown



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-06
Updated: 2011-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:59:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krisherdown/pseuds/krisherdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Takes place at 2005 French Open and Wimbledon. </em>Usually Gael doesn’t like things to linger but he is holding back and doesn't know why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Flower

**Author's Note:**

>  Posted for Volume 2 of [](http://netcord.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://netcord.livejournal.com/)**netcord**  .

“You need to relax,” Gael snaps after dealing with ten minutes of anxiety-filled silence from Richie. “Just answer the questions from the press and then your day is clear to have fun.”

They’re waiting in the lounge for their scheduled interviews with the press before the French Open. This is the first time they’ve both been in the main draw of a Grand Slam and Gael wonders if this is always the way it will be. It being the French Open means that more of his friends are around so Gael is able to chill out. He wishes Richie would do the same. Okay, so expectations are a bit higher once you start challenging the big dogs but he figures the basic principle is the same.

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not dealing with everyone’s eyes on you. Ever since beating Roger and challenging Rafa at Monte Carlo, it’s as if I can’t make a move around here. I’ve lost six matches out of six at Grand Slams so for them to be pushing a potential third round match with Rafa is insane.”

Rather than reply to any of that and continue this impending panic attack, Gael says simply, “Hang out with us mortals tonight. We can mock how Novak hopelessly flirts with Gilles.”

Gael knows that Richie is wary of both those guys, overwhelming in different ways, but he does nod. This in itself is a victory because Richie prefers small groups over the large gatherings that Gael favors.

It is probably the challenge that forces Gael toward Richie whenever possible. He likes how he can irritate Richie by sliding on a hard court and this has the same principle. Gael wants to be outrageous just to see where the line really is with him.

What he knows is that Gilles gives Gael a curious look upon hearing about the addition. Gilles often knows too much and will say what he knows at the most inopportune moment. It’s only a matter of time before Gael will hear all about the meaning of the look.

Richie does look nervous at the table. He may be more comfortable if this was a required function instead of a bunch of teenagers hanging out. Too much unpredictability for him.

Novak comes over, eager to get more people, but especially Gilles, on the dance floor. Gael is never one to turn down any invite like that and quickly stands up. He’s about to leave the table when he turns to Richie and asks, “You joining?”

When Richie doesn’t immediately answer, Gilles lets out a loud sigh then surprises everyone by standing up and jerking on Richie’s arm with surprising force. Richie, not expecting to be jolted from his seat, stumbles and ends up colliding with Gael, grabbing onto his arm so as not to fall.

Gilles’ eyes light up and Gael knows that feeling of trouble was well-founded. Novak leans in to say to Gilles, “You’re not the most graceful of matchmakers,” but leads him away from the others before Gilles remembers he’d intended to avoid Novak’s advances.

They may be leaving but Gilles’ response is still clear to Gael. “Maybe not but if I have to hear one more word from the others about his obvious crush, I was going to announce it on the loudspeaker.”

Gael blurts out, “What?” but stops as he notices Richie staring at the floor.

“Sorry about that,” Richie mutters. “Gilles startled me with the move.” He lets go and makes a beeline for the dance floor, where everyone else is gathered.

Gael stands there, looking from the retreating forms of Gilles then Richie, as he wonders exactly what he doesn’t know. He’s certainly not to going to get any answers here so he’s just going to enjoy the music.

There’s too much going on around him that night and he’s on strict orders from his coach for the rest of the tournament. They always seem to have other people acting as barriers anyway. Gael really hates the smug look on Gilles’ face, even as he is oblivious to the hyper Serb getting more involved.

* * * * *

It is days before Wimbledon and Gael is growing more frustrated by the minute here on the practice court. He may have a junior Wimbledon title but he is not a fan of the grass. He can serve and volley but it’s not an instinctive shot.

Even these courts are all upper class and pristine and it’s getting under his skin. It needs more bright colors and pulsating beats. He looks down at his turquoise and black t-shirt, knowing it would be denied once on the hallowed grounds.

His coach walks off to talk to someone, which is probably why he’s safe to suddenly declare, “I should blast some Jay-Z,” hoping for some reaction. He’s stuffing his tennis bag with one eye on the other players around.

It turns out Richie is the one in earshot of the comment. He bites his lip to keep his distracted coach from seeing the smile. But Gael likes that it even got that much since there has been distance between them since Gilles’ stupid remark. Well, that and Richie has been busy winning a lot of matches in the warm-up tournaments and actually being _comfortable_ on this surface but that’s just a minor detail.

Usually Gael doesn’t like things to linger but this has him holding back and he’s not sure why. If everyone thought Gael had a crush on Richie, it normally… well, actually it normally wouldn’t even get to the gossipers. Gael would have already acted on it. It’s as if shyness is contagious and Gael is afflicted.

Maybe it could be a body swap. Gael chuckles as he tries to picture some way for Richie to loosen up. Get him onto the stage with a mic maybe. Or maybe smaller steps like wearing something that’s a few sizes too big and a few colors too many.

Gael gets lost in this vision and is thrown out of it by someone above him asking, “What’s so funny?” Richie is staring down, appearing faintly amused. Gael notices a stern look thrown his way, as if he’d been abandoned mid-sentence.

“Nothing. Just got a song stuck in my head.” Going along with the earlier remark, he sings, “ _Ninety nine problems but a bitch ain’t one._ ”

“Oh,” in a way that Richie clearly has no clue what Gael means. “Er, are you busy later? I’m going golfing with Rafa after this but you and I need to… there’s something we need to talk about. Privately.”

Gael wonders if Richie has any idea the effect he can have just by saying that last word so softly. “You’re looking for a private show?” He tries for flirty but it seems to land on the grass with… well, not a thud but the general effect.

Richie tilts his head then gives a snort, taking it for the joke Gael would have normally meant. Clearly the landing is only in Gael’s head. “Yeah, sure. See you later.” So damn casual as he leaves, too. Absolutely infuriating.

* * * * *

When Gael opens the door of his hotel room and sees Richie still in his golf attire, he’s convinced he’s set himself up to be trapped in his version of hell. Not that golf itself is hell, just that he’s got to be so annoyingly perfect and come from somewhere productive. Meanwhile, Gael prepared with a black sleeveless tee and basketball shorts that he’d thrown on after his shower then listened to his coach before being left alone and needing to play video games to kill the silence.

“You’re going to let me in, right?”

“Of course.” Gael steps aside to let Richie in, then shakes his head and wanting to yell at himself for sounding like a geek. “We don’t hang out as much.”

“We get too busy.” Richie looks around the room, tempted to mention about the assorted items strewn around but thinking better of it.

“Do you want to sit down?” Though Gael realizes too late one chair contains tennis gear and the couch has his suitcases. Leaving the only seat the bed itself. Richie watches as Gael darts for that seat, then shrugs as he joins in. Gael picks up the game controller awkwardly, then shakes his head.

Richie says what Gael is thinking in that moment. “This is so silly.”

“What is?”

“The other guys have a pool going regarding us. They figure it’s only a matter of time before you act on it.”

That certainly throws Gael for a loop. “What are you…”

Richie chuckles lightly at Gael’s likely stunned look. “You cannot hide what you’re thinking. Actually I thought _maybe_ it was true before the party but then late in the night Arnaud let a comment slip about losing money on me from last week. He and Mika were full of wine and no longer caring about keeping quiet since they were out. Nobody else involved realizes I know about it.”

“What about what Gilles said?”

“His money was on the prep before the French Open, which would have included the night of the party. So _of course_ he had to stack the deck.”

Gael collapses back on the bed. “I cannot believe… is _everyone_ involved?”

“Yeah.” Richie looks down at Gael, contemplating what to say now that this bet is no longer a secret. “Here’s what I can’t figure out. I’ve seen you act on your attraction, rather quickly I might add, numerous times. I get that we’re friends but that doesn’t normally stop you. What’s different with me?

“Oh come on. You know exactly what’s different.”

Richie narrows his stare on Gael. He appears irritated by the comment, then finally says in a clipped manner, “I want to hear you say it.”

“You’ve seen the drama from my other relationships. A lot of heartache is involved. I cannot screw up the prince.” Richie stands up hastily. Gael props himself up on his elbows as he adds, “This is why. You’re disgusted to hear me say that but it’s the truth. You don’t have that kind of experience most teens have.”

“Prince?” Richie shakes his head in disbelief, wanting to tell him off for calling him that but not really capable. There is a long uncomfortable silence filling the room and, much as it bothers Gael, he needs to wait this out. "So I should stay sheltered from possible heartache?” Richie slowly turns around, his eyes focused right on Gael. “What makes you think I don’t know anything about heartache, anyway? That I didn’t feel anything whenever I saw you kissing someone?”

Gael says softly, “I thought you were happy for me and Jo.” He sits up, this too important to stay lying down.

“That was the worst of all. It did hurt but I’m not fragile.” Richie kneels down on the bed, the intensity of his eyes enticing Gael to find out what’s next. “I’m entitled to mess up just like any other teenager.”

“Well… if someone must win the pool, then it’s not worth prolonging any longer.” Gael feels an inevitability settle in when he asks, “Have you ever been kissed?”

“You tell me,” then pushes Gael back down on the bed and hovers over before going in for the kiss. Gael admits he didn’t see being in this position but catches up, repositioning so that he can bring his hand to Richie’s back and have him closer. When they finally break their mouths apart about a minute later, Richie slides off until he’s lying next to Gael on the bed… and is laughing.

Gael sits up abruptly, suddenly wondering if he’s the naïve one. “Okay, no. If this is just a game to you, Rafa and the other elite players, get out.”

Richie seems to realize how it must look and tries to stop laughing. He gets flustered as he explains, “I’m not laughing because of you. It’s just… the pool. It’s based on you acting. Not me because apparently I’m too much of a girl. So technically…”  
“Who has this week?”

“Novak, which I think is because he romanticizes Wimbledon. That and tying this to finally pursuing a certain Brit instead of dealing with Gilles’ obliviousness but you didn’t hear me say that. Sebastian is in two weeks.”

“You would want to rig it in his favor. Okay. That gives us plenty of time to practice.”

“Probably need it. That actually was my first kiss but they assume you’re doing me a favor.”

Gael gives a wicked smile as he closes in, lowering his voice to sound seductive when he says with assurance, “Believe me. You have no trouble in this field but I have no objection to training either.”


End file.
